He grabbed my hand today and held on for a while.
I wasn't expecting it.
If I'm honest, I also wasn't expecting my seven-year-old middle boy to be so moody before even being a tween.
But here we are, folks, and truthfully, I can't blame him for presenting with a less than pleasant demeanor at times.
It's hard being the only boy kid in the family.
It's hard being smushed between too overly-vocal, very dramatic, don't-think-they-could-talk-any-more-if-they-wanted, undeniably cute-as-a-button girls.
So I try dang hard to make sure this guy, my mini main fella, knows he is incredibly loved and valued by his family and that his mother is forever
in his corner,
on his side,
and his biggest supporter and champion.
It's different for moms and daughters who share the "girl thang," but us moms with sons, we've got to work at keeping that relationship strong and solid.
So day in and day out, I smother my not-so-little kid with just enough affirming words and affection as he will allow, always respecting his self-established boundaries.
Sometimes that's not much.
Other times, like today, he soaks it up, or better yet, seeks it out.
When it comes to this guy or his sisters, I'll tell you one thing:
I'll never tire of the spontaneous handhold.
It feels so damn good for this mama's heart and talks to mine as if my kid is saying,
"I don't just need you, but I want you, and I'm glad we're in this life together.”
Me too, kid. Me too. More than I can ever explain to you.
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